I miss you so much today. I can still hear the sound of your voice so soft and sweet. You called me only hours before you passed and I wished that conversation never ended. I still pray to you almost everyday and I hope you can hear me. I just can’t let you go and I fear that I will never be able to get over you. I miss you.

I’m writing just because I need to. This is my therapy for today. Confused, scared, a loof, brain dead, exhausted, all things I’ve been feeling as of late. My life is way too complicated and if I don’t get some things out my tiny brain I fear it mayvery well explode. Seriously there soon may be brain matter all over my office. (haha I’m writing instead of working, but hey I can’t help it the economy is bad and sales are slow)

For those readers who don’t know, I’m getting married in June. And as elated as I am I must confess that I am aslo scared as hell. All of these “issues” are creeping around my brain and are as dangerous as ever. I’m fearing abandonment, being good enough, not bottling the whole thing. I want to know in my heart that I can make it and that I can make this work. But already things are so hard. Money, jobs, pressure, expectation. Can I meet all of these and take them head on, I just don’t feel like I’m good enough. Never in my life have I ever felt up to it when it comes to the big moments and arguably this is one of the biggest. So what am I to do with such a crap track record of coming out on top in times like these.

I guess this is why I’m turning to my trusty old blog, my online whaling board of sorts. It has been such a while since I’ve had the inspiration to write like I used to. Ever since she left this world I have found my self just so lacking for a voice. That’s not to say I don’t still carry my opinions. I read and comment and take in pieces from other peoples blogs, but I myself can’t seem to find any length of words to put down in my own little corner of the internets. I’m just so languid when it comes to that fire that used to reside in my heart, especially when it comes to my adoptee thoughts.

I suppose I am looking to tilt the view a bit when I think about the term ethnic heritage. When asked to describe what type of role my ethnic heritage plays in my everyday life, I think it is important for me to first understand what that term actually means. Heritage being something that can be passed on or inherited through birth and ethnic meaning a belonging to a group consisting of similar characteristics. Initially my mind conjured up images of han-bok and banchan, Samsung and Hyundai, soju and karoke. But these things are inherently not cultural influences on my life. These are the things that are part of a culture foreign to me, a culture learned all too late in my life, a culture that was left behind in Incheon 23 years ago.

The way in which I wish to tweak my view on cultural heritage revolves around being adopted and more specifically being a Korean adoptee. This is my ethnic heritage, this is what I have inherited from birth, this is the group whom I associate mostly with, it is this that influences my life day in day out.

I was born into this and from the second I was placed in foster care and from the moment I was sent to America, I was forever bound into this little “nation” as it is. My inheritance is an aesthetic that does not match the name and the voice, that is what was passed on to me. I am not the first to be welcomed into this most unique culture of transracial oversea adoptee and I surely won’t be the last. But I am truly proud to be part of it.

I feel for my brothers and sisters whom are part of this transracial overseas adoption nation of ours. The ones who need blood and marrow, that find the doors that should be left open to them are securely bolted and lock. I relate to those of us whom have inherited a life time of questioning and self doubt. I hold a great deal of sympathy for those of us who just want answers and closure to things that are so easily assumed for people who are not part of our position. My heart is truely with those who shoulder this duality everyday of being many things to many people all at the once. We the object of desire for so many, while at the same time we are the point of contention for someone else mired past. We were born into this without much say and as we mature and grow to find our voices, we still find that our vision and opinions go unheard or misunderstood.

There is not a day that goes by that I am not left wondering. The eternal “what if’s?” ring loud and clear in my heart. I love the ones who adopted me and took me into their home, but what if my mother would have kept me? I often find myself feeling depressed and overwhelmed, were these characteristics possessed by my birth mother or father dealt with and are they part of my genetic inheritance? Could I ever just truly blend in somewhere? If only the adoptee island were a real place which I could go.

For me it is quite essential to understand that as I will probably never belong to what most would assume is my “ethnic heritage” i.e. Korea. It is also important for me to accept that the struggles that a transracial adoptee encounters and shoulders are things that will also never be widely accepted or highlighted here in America. I do find solace knowing that I am however a part of a group and that is the Korean adoptee nation.

I haven’t written. I can’t write. Life has been coming thick and fast and these constant grey skies numb my senses. I am fitting in so much these days, cramming more and more into my existence. Growing and rising and at the same time trying to shrink and simplify. Life is not that complex and it is complicated at the same time. (that sounds stupid and pretentious). I haven’t posted in a while because I am not just adopted and I am not just my thoughts and words on my blog, there is just so much more in life that I have to focus on. Perspective is the key I think to understanding what in life is meant to be simple and what is supposed to be complex.

Today the sun is out, brimming with confidence as it often does during these winter months. Here in upstate you don’t seem to come out much this time of year, but when you do the vitriol and vigor you bring is intoxicating. It is on these days that I find my inspiration creeps back just a bit. Today I was able to do two of the things that I enjoy, wear my Ray-bans and sing my heart out. I like my sunglasses because they hide my eyes and maybe if you were to spy me just for a moment you wouldn’t know what I was and you could pass me by. I like to sing, because I feel as if I am someone else, someone who has the power to move.

I get up and I’m into work just as the sun is rising (although I wouldn’t know because the clouds blot out the sun) and I leave long after it has set. When it’s dark on my rides to and from work I just can’t seem to sing, I love to sing despite how terrible I am at it. I always sing in the car.

It has been one month since I met her. Everything has changed. She is different than the last, but I love her just the same, no, I love her more. So here I stand quivering in the light of such immense possibility and hope. I shake and tumble under the weight of what I might be or who I shall embody. Can I believe in something for once?

When she gets going, plying her craft, I stand in complete and utter awe at what a strikingly strong figure she is. Yet there is a soft gentleness about her that is so inviting; and I find myself intimidated only by my own fears. Repeating like a record whose needle has gone off track “am I good enough, am I good enough, am I good enough.” But there has been no singing with you. On other occasions in my life whilst flirting with other “love” I have found myself full of song. Searching for the cheesiest, most cliche tune to sing aloud the finding of my new love, but not for you. There is a calm and a certain steadiness that resides in me. I love this. I don’t feel like I need to convince myself or justify this feeling. I find that I am not the shivering child lost amongst shadows of the past, but an assured man who can walk peacefully through the fires of life.

So I need not sing, not aloud at least. For when I close my eyes a gentle melody is heard whispering softly inside my heart.

As I write this, I tremble. Waffling between the sublime and the fear. I read my words with confusion and angst. I am so elated at the prospect of truly being loved, yet I fear I will sabotage all that is good with my insecurities and lack of resolve. Will you stay?

Whilst I have every good intention possible and the truest of belief in what we have is real, I fear for what looms inside of me. I don’t know if I will ever be sure of my level of trust. She gave me up, and so could you. I was not good enough for here even as the cutest small babe, and now as a grizzled young man how am I to know that I am good enough for you. Oh where has my confidence gone?

I haven’t really posted anything of substance or meaning in a long time, and not that this will be one of those posts, I felt sad that I have had nothing new on this blog. So get ready for this because it is uselss filler time.

Alright alright, calm down, this is not going to be that bad or even that useless. A lot has been going on in my Little Prince world and for the life of me I haven’t been able to find any words to express, I think they are hiding somewhere. Oh and if you can find the words please let me know, I’ll bring a net and some sugar cubes, we’ll catch them yet.

So since I last posted, lets see. I drove 20 hours to Chicago to meet with advisers at school and look for apartments. I also met up with a lot of great KAD’s who head up the Chicago KAD group. I loved the school, love the fact that it is near Korea Town, and love the fact that there is such a great group of adoptees in the area.

I’ve had a falling out with the old man. This is due to his petulant attidued about me leaving and not including him in the planning prosces. But I don’t want to talk of that, the words are most surely hiding about what has been going on between him and I. I’ve helped to open my friends new restaurant, that has been fun. And I have made a new freind.

My dear I am reaching for things to say.

Ya know I have been thinking a lot about this blog, specifically what purpose does it serve? Who does it facilitate? When I started this it was a voioce, my voice. The one that exsisted inside my head, the one that I would have conversations with and the one I was able to still out onto this pages of this blog. But that voice is somwhat silent. The words are lost and certainly not forth coming. I am not sure if I even want to continue here anymore. I mean does it really help to pour myself out to the public? I suppose it used to be nice and all but now I just don’t know what I get out of it. I am glad to have met and conversed with a lot of very nice people, but I just don’t know what more I have to say.

I will comment on this later, as I am still gathering my thoughts and analysis on this piece. However my initial thoughts to this article are two things.

1) 2012. You’re having a laugh.

2) Common words used throughout: Embarrassment, shame, stigma, and disgrace. These words used to describe adoption are great indicators as to how we, the adoptees feel. It is no wonder that such ideals are passed on to us. I guess it starts at the top.

What are we asked to shoulder? What items are tucked away in our nap sacks? What is it that you keep stowed away in tiny compartments and zippered pockets? What things do you slip into our satchels, unbeknownst to us?

I saw some of the extended family tonight. Sat there at the kitchen counter were cousins and uncles of my father. All Robinson, they reminisced over family and the current goings on of different extensions of the family. I had a glass of wine and listened, mostly I talked to my mom. It must be said that I don’t care much for that side of the family, but they are nice enough so I am not to bothered by their presence. That is until you get a bit of spirit into them, then their true colors come brimming out with such aplomb (sarcastic).

It was a conversation for my mother and I, but being Robinson’s gives them exclusive privileges to but in and give their two cents. Mom had informed me much to my surprise that my sister had bought another house, a house her husband had been saying they needed in Lou of the new baby. A house they can’t afford, a house that in my opinion they really don’t need. So I was talking exclusively to my mom, half jokingly, that it’s people like my brother in-law who are the cause for the housing bust and it’s honest people like me who are going to have to bail his sorry ass out.

I was just talking to my mom about my sister and brother in-law over extending themselves financially, and this is what I get. I wasn’t even talking to them. I wasn’t even talking about that. I was discussing mortgages and housing prices and loopy brother in-laws.

The lines of dialogue(if you can call that dross dialogue) above are just some of the more tasty comments I endured. But it made me think. Anyway I thought about my adoption. I thought about a lot of adoptions, about the people who say they want to adopt, the people that say they would consider adopting, and those that have already adopted. I want to know what it is that you carry around with you and what is it that you will pass on to the children you adopt.

As I sat through a thoroughly unjustified lambasting about my conceived political choices (I never once said who I associated with or who I intended to vote for, I guess they just assumed a young guy talking about current events must be some radical left wing extremist) and then tried to explain the mortgage bail outs and why they happened, I couldn’t help but think about what I was brought into. I mean look at this family, look at the mindsets that are prevalent throughout.

I was listening (well not actually listening) to someone who was clearly racist. I knew both sides of the family, mother and fathers, harbored some sentiments towards people of different races. I hadn’t seen it in years though. After my grandparents died and families kept in very loose touch, I really never saw too much of the extended family and therefore saw less and less of the racism and prejudice I had grown up with. Now I hate to actually admit it but I know that some of those blind prejudices in all likely hood reside within me. This is something I carry from years of exposure.

I know my parents didn’t consider this when they adopted. They knew both their sets of parents were outwardly racist. They were from the old school or the old country or somewhere really old, so to them it was ok and therefore natural that they spoke outwardly about not liking people, for whatever reason. These were the people who I was entrusted for many an after school afternoon or even during the day when my parents worked. The family that was over tonight were the same people who I grew up around, when family gatherings were more frequent. The same people whom back in the day I would sit around the card table with or on the couch watching the game, listening and absorbing while they made off the cuff remarks about people of color.

Now I know that they all love me, and on the outside they accept me. But what about when they got in their car tonight, slightly inebriated from all the drink, what is that they really say about me, about the first presidential candidate of color, about Spike Lee and his new film. (I doubt they know he has a new film but if they did what would they say) What words do they choose to use to describe us.

But more importantly how does this impact me, a minority of color. Maybe a a better question is how has it already effected me. Years of exposure to this, a lifetime of being conditioned to think a certain way. How will I view myself or how do I view others. I just wonder if people consider what it is they carry with them. Whether it be racism, intolerance, hatred, whatever it may be, what is it that we all travel with and how will we pass it to our children. Especially our transracially adopted children.

So just think about this. What tasty little pieces have been put into your satchel? What did your parents give you and what will you give to your children? Knowingly or not.

p.s.

-lets not forget that as we get older and move from childhood to adulthood to old-folk-hood we get a better feel for the things we have strapped to our backs. Somethings we forget are there and some weigh on us heavier than others. But as conscious human beings we all have the ability to choose what we will take with us and what we will leave behind.